Kingdom: The Complete Series (28 page)

“
Imagine
your own family having to deal with that. You have a family?” The man shakes
his head. “Really? No mother or father? Cousins? Girlfriend? Dog?” He says
nothing this time. “I thought so.”

The door creaks open
and one of Gregor's men passes him a yellow canister that looks just like a
smoke grenade with a lever at the top. He takes it, rolls it over in his hands,
and nods.

“
That's
the one. Thank you. I'll meet you in the van.”

The door closes again.

“
What
do you want from me?” asks the captive, shaking, his voice frail and timid now.

“
I
need a favour.”

He sighs in relief.
“Couldn't you just have said that?” He takes a shuddering breath and leans back
in the chair. “What do you need?”

“
See
this?” Gregor holds up the yellow canister. “This is hydrogen sulfide. Now you
work in a warehouse for some smuggling ring.” He looks outside the window,
where his men are disposing of some bodies. “Well,
worked
for a
smuggling ring. So I'm guessing you didn't pay attention in chemistry. Hydrogen
sulfide is very dangerous.”

Gregor stands up,
towering over the man.

“
You
find it in volcanoes. Sometimes in sewers or mines: it's naturally occurring.
It's also very heavy – it sinks to the bottom of tunnels and wells and stays
there until some poor sap walks along, disturbing it, kicking it into the air.
Then they breathe it in, and it kills their sense of smell. It smells like
putrid death, you see - but they don't even notice. Then it paralyses their
lungs and they die. Fairly lethal even in small amounts. It's also very, very
flammable. This thing will explode if you put a match to it.”

“
Ok,
and what?” the man asks. “You want more, or something?”

“
More?
Your buyer stole it from us – we had a guy collecting this stuff. There are two
more cans out there; I don't need more.” Gregor squats down to eye level as the
engine of a van splutters to life outside. “We have a pest problem, you see.
Rats so big you wouldn't believe. These rats are special, though – they're
bulletproof. They can jump over a building. They pack a punch you wouldn't
believe, and they're very smart. You know what they can't do? Breathe in
poison. It nearly worked for us before – but we were too easy on the poison.
This stuff here,” Gregor taps the canister, “is much more effective.”

“
I
don't understand.” The man is leaning back, trying to get away from Gregor, and
the thick musk of aftershave and smoke that is reeking off of him. “What do you
want me to do with it?”

“
Well
frankly,” Gregor smiles with his mouth, but his eyes remain blank, fixed on the
man. “I need to know if it still works.”

The man begins to
protest and beg, but all Gregor hears is the smooth music of his soul. Smiling
with familiar comfort he stands up, places the canister on the ground and
cranks the lever on the top.

“
I
think it takes about three seconds to de-pressurise – safety feature,” he says,
heading for the door and throwing it open. “Thank you for the help.”

The man's protests and
screams are cut off as Gregor closes the door and walks around to the window,
making sure there are no openings. Satisfied, he walks to the warehouse exit
where the rain splashes against his shoes, and turns, watching through the
window.

The man's cheeks are
puffed out, his face turning red. Gregor watches, his face blank, as his test
subject loses the battle with his own lungs and coughs, taking a deep breath
and panicking.

He's shaking his head,
screaming – for Gregor, the world is silent and at peace. He watches his lab
rat splutter and gasp, before his eyes glaze over and he slumps forwards.

“
Well
that was quick,” he mutters to himself.

Shrugging, he turns
into the rain and raises a hand – one of his men throw him his umbrella and he
props it up, walking out into the rain where the van is waiting to take him
home.

Episode
5

Men
of Steel

The Trespasser barks
orders into his headset as he crashes through a set of double doors. “Medical
team to training room one. We have a red signal from armband six, female, power
is mechanical manipulation. Begin evacuating to the surface immediately. I'm
heading for the signal.”

He streaks down the long,
cold hallways of the facility, his breath the only sound in his ears. Even as
he hits a rapid sprint on the long straight, his hands are patting his belt and
webbing, checking his weaponry and equipment.

Stun-gun; check.
Hand-held forty-millimetre launcher, loaded with the same putty he once used to
knock out Mark; check. Stun grenades; check. He doesn't bother to feel for his
service pistol and combat knife: he has no intent of using them.

The alarm sounds
throughout the facility, flashing lights bathing the hallway in red. He reaches
the training hall and stops, listening. Instinct says to burst in but his
training stops him, making him reach out with his senses, taking his time.

He chooses the
stun-gun, a long range single-shot tazer with a charge that will knock out a
horse. The Trespasser has it dialled down to half-power. He places a gloved
palm on the door and eases it open, coming in low with the weapon raised.

Mark and Stacy stand in
the middle of a training mat, a heap of metal on the ground between them. They
are looking around in bewilderment. Stacy has one hand on her head, a single
line of blood coming from her nostril.

She sees the Trespasser
at the door and screams in surprise, clamping her other hand over her mouth.
Mark follows her eyes and sees the Trespasser crossing the floor. The training
room is dark red, emergency lights humming on and bathing the room in a crimson
tint.

Mark raises his hands,
his face a mix of confusion and fear, glancing between the Trespasser's eyes
and the stun-gun levelled aimed at him. 

“
Was
that us?” he asks.

The Trespasser looks at
Mark's armband as he approaches, and then Stacy's. Though he isn't wearing a
mask, his face is set in a stubborn grimace; it fades when he sees Stacy's
armband flicker from red to orange.

He lowers the stun-gun,
holstering it, and rubs his eyes before pressing in his earpiece.

“
Command,
this is Trespasser One. False alarm; repeat, false alarm. All clear. Send the
medical team for a check up anyway. Cancel the evacuation.”

Mark sits on the bench
beside Stacy, her metal man still lying in a heap on the mat where she let him
fall. The lights clunk and flicker back on.

“
What
the hell were you two doing?” asks the Trespasser, pacing back and forward in
front of them.

The door squeaks and
closes over as the medical team leave, taking an empty stretcher and a
crash-cart with them, muttering to themselves. The pair's armbands are a
healthy green. 

“
Practising,”
she shrugs. “Like you said we should.”

“
Your
armband went into the red, Stacy – that means nosebleeds, that's the
threshold.”

“
I'm
ok though -”

“
Nosebleeds
are what comes before the haemorrhaging, Stacy,” he shouts at her. “Which in
our experience, results in the immediate death of you and, if you're near
anything your power can affect, everybody within about a hundred metres.”

She huffs and rolls her
eyes. “Sorry.”

The Trespasser pinches
the bridge of his nose. “What
were
you doing anyway? Is that the test
dummy we gave you?”

“
He's
called Rob,” says Mark, smiling despite their telling off. “He's basically the
terminator's low budget mate.”

The Trespasser begins
to speak, and then stops. He points a finger at Mark, then Stacy, his mouth
open as he connects the dot.

“
Were
you
fighting?”

“
He
needed to blow off some steam.” Stacy throws her hands up. “You said so
yourself; Mark needed to hit somebody. Well he can hit Rob all he wants, he's
made of metal.”

“
And
you,” the Trespasser points at Stacy.  “You can control that thing well enough
to fight somebody?”

“
Hey,”
says Mark, “not just somebody –
me.
That's like fighting a car crash.
”

“
It
was hard to start with,” she says, “but after a few tries...”

Mark leans in,
interrupting. “By the time you came in, we were doing best-of-three matches.”

The anger has left the
Trespasser's face now, replaced with the distant stare he has when he's
planning and thinking.

“
That
true, Stacy?”

She pouts and nods as
if it were nothing at all.

“
She
needs to brush up on her technique though,” says Mark.

She gives him a playful
dig in the ribs that he doesn't even feel.

“
I
can punch fine -”

“
Yeah
ok, Stacy, you can punch just fine,” he gives a sarcastic laugh. “You're like a
young Tyson.”

The Trespasser raises
his hand to his ear piece and speaks in a straight forward manner.

“
Trespasser
One to Command: have my squad sent to training room one. You might want to come
down yourself – and somebody from engineering, too. We have a breakthrough.”

“
A
breakthrough?” asks Stacy, snapping her head up.

“
Back
to the mat,” he turns and waves them over, taking off his webbing and his belt
and laying it at the side of the mat with a clunk.

He removes his boots
after a minute of unlacing and unfastens, unzips and unclasps his armour. It
clangs to the floor, the bulletproof plating maintaining its shape,  giving the
appearance of a hollow Trespasser lying on the ground.

Standing in his shorts
and a black vest, he walks barefoot onto the mat and invites them to join him
with open arms.

“
Are
we not in trouble then?” asks Stacy as she hesitates to step on.

“
No
Stacy, you're not in trouble.” The Trespasser starts cracking his knuckles and
neck and stretching his arms. “But I'm going to have to teach you to throw a
punch properly before everybody gets here.”

“
Told
you,” says Mark.

“
You
too,” the Trespasser points at him. “I've seen you fight. You're like a horse
on an ice rink.”

Mark laughs, shrugs,
and takes a quick swig from his flask before throwing it on a pile with the
Trespasser's overalls.

He steps onto the mat.

“
We
should have popcorn or something,” says Gary as the squad shuffles onto the
training room bench.

“
I
thought you'd given up on teaching us hand to hand,” says Jamie to the
Trespasser, who leaves Mark and Stacy alone on the mat and joins them on the
bench. The metal man still lies in the middle of the ring.

“
This
changes things,” says the Trespasser. He leans forward to address everybody on
the bench. “I wanted everybody to see how quickly Stacy's control over her
powers has developed. This is why we're training you to use them.”

Suddenly, he stands up
and links his hands behind his back: an older man in a grey shirt and a grey
suit, held together with a silver tie, enters the room and gives him a brief
nod.

“
Trespasser
One.”

“
Command,”
he says, still getting used to his new superior.

This man, this new
Command, is grey: everything about him – from the thinning hairline to his
eyes, his thin lips and his blank personality – is devoid of colour, as though
he is a man stuck in black and white. If men are weather, Command is a storm
cloud.

“
What
is it that you wanted me to see, Trespasser?”

“
The
potential applications of one of my squad member's abilities sir. Already I can
see possible usage in bomb disposal, search and rescue, fire rescue – I'm sure
engineering will be able to come up with more.”

“
Which
squad member, and what abilities, Trespasser One?”

“
Stacy,”
he turns, shouting to her on the mat. “One round, you and Mark. When you're
ready.”

The duo on the mat nod,
and the audience watches as Stacy closes her eyes, concentrating, one hand on
her temple.

The metal man, his
crude smiling face dented and bent now, rises to his feet. Command is watching
as Rob the tin man assumes a stance and extends a closed fist, which Mark bumps
with his own. Trespasser One is watching Command; his face turns from shock to
intrigue. Then he sees the cogs begin to turn.

“
Is
she controlling that -”

“
Yes.”

“
No
power source? No engine, no -”

“
Any
mechanical system, sir: she can control
any
mechanical system.”

The fight begins, and
Rob the metal man steps in and punches Mark in the gut. Grabbing the machine by
its arm, Mark pirouettes and throws it to the ground. It slams onto its back
with Mark on top of it, and Stacy gasps and lets go of her head.

Jamie stands up,
whooping and clapping.

Cathy tuts. “This is
how that terminator film started, I'm sure of it.”

Gary cups his hands
around his mouth as the machine gets to its feet and assumes the stance again.

“
Kick
his wee head in, Stacy,” he shouts.

Command turns to
Trespasser One as the second round begins.

“
Why
don't we put her in a Challenger tank?”

“
They
need fuel, ammunition, you can break a tread and immobilise them. That thing
there can do any job a man can do, without any risk of life. It can enter
buildings, clear mines -”

“
No
fuel? No power?”

“
Well,
Stacy is powering it, and she needs to eat I guess. Asides that, not really.
Breaking it doesn't even do much – Mark has been punching lumps out of it and
it hasn't slowed it down. It's just poles and metal: there's not a lot to
break.”

“
I'm
thinking, Trespasser.” Command smiles. “How many of these things can she
control at once?”

“
I
think more than one or two might be pushing it, sir. But I asked the boys down
from engineering too. I want to know if making lighter ones might help her.
That one's steel, for instance. I wonder if a lighter alloy might take the
strain off her.”

“
Could
we mount weaponry on it?”

“
Probably
– but I'd like to leave that decision up to Stacy. She's not a soldier, sir.”

Command rubs his chin,
watching the sparring match.

The second fight goes
better for Stacy.

Rob ducks Mark's first
hook and grabs him by the legs, tugging him off balance. Mark grabs on to its
metal shoulder as he falls, rolling with the throw and tossing Rob sideways on
to the mat.

Stacy grits her teeth,
trying to focus, and Rob makes it to his feet and dances to Mark's side as he
throws a second punch. Rob plants one foot behind Mark's, puts a steel palm on
his chest, and pushes him over. Mark hits the ground with a thud, and it is
Cathy and Gary who stands up this time, applauding.

“
That's
one each,” says Donald, stroking his chin. “Not bad.”

“
Mark,
this is amateur stuff,” shouts Jamie. “Come on, get drunk. Get angry.”

Mark laughs and flips
his middle finger at Jamie, who laughs.

Command pats Trespasser
on the back. “I'll give engineering everything they need, Trespasser. I've seen
enough. I'm convinced. Continue the training.”

“
Yes,
sir,” he says. “Thank you, sir.”

“
On
another note: less than forty-eight hours till arrival, I believe?”

“
Much
less, sir. At the last update, my timer said thirty two.”

“
Are
you ready?”

“
Yes,
sir.”

Command jerks his head
towards the door, and the Trespasser follows him away from the squad, where
Command lowers his voice.

“
Are
your squad ready?”

“
Yes,
sir.” he says, without hesitation.

“
What
about that one?” Command looks straight at Mark, preparing for round three on
the mat. “His profile has him listed as a drunk; self-destructive, with
something of a messiah complex. Will he be ok?”